


Concave Mindstate

by MuddyInk



Category: South Park
Genre: Abusive staff, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Electroconvulsive Therapy, Insanity, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Murder, Needles, Pain, Sad Ending, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 15:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuddyInk/pseuds/MuddyInk
Summary: The static builds, overflowing. Blocking everything out until there is nothing left. I see that picture again. Beautiful, red, wet. I can almost touch it. My fingers barely brushing against the wet slick redness when"Kyle"





	Concave Mindstate

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Counting the seconds away. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes turn to hours, hours to days. It’s been weeks, months now. Weeks and months, months and weeks. It never feels like it has been that long and yet it also feels like it has been years. Can’t move, can’t think, can't breathe. Arms tightly at your sides, the only thing worth while is counting.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.

In your own head, that is where you stay. Counting and counting, being sucked inside memories. Inside memories where the trauma lies. Trauma, trauma, trauma. Your mind, my mind, is static. Static buzzing, crackling, taking up all the space. All the static and it is taking you back to that place again. That place you found yourself but lost everything. Beautiful, bright beautiful red. Red, red, red. I can almost touch it, almost taste it. I’m, we're, you're reaching for it, a small hysterical giggle breaking past your lips. My fingers just brushing against the silky wetness when –

“_Kyle_.”

My head snaps up, eyes focusing on the woman in front of me for the first time. She is pretty, curly blonde hair proofing up around her head, small glasses perched on her nose. She has that look in her eyes, showing me she is annoyed but trying to be patient. A small scowl on her lips. The name tag attached to her lab coat claims her name is Dr. Victoria.

“Kyle did you hear _anything_ I just said?” she questions. My eyes slide back up to hers and I just stare. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and I smile. Her frown deepens and she scribbles some things onto her clipboard. She looks back up to me, pondering. She speaks.

“Are you still hearing voices?”

“No.” My response is immediate. I know giving up information results in more time here. She does not relent however.

“Kyle, if you ever want to get better you know you have to be honest with me", she is giving me that look again. “You never speak to me in these meetings. You are always looking at the wall. Where do you go?”

“I don’t know.” I glare at the floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. There she goes with that god forsaken pen again. She is annoyed now, I can tell. Just a few more minutes. I bite my lip. My anger is growing but if I blow up now that is longer I have to spend in this hell hole.

“Are you sure?”

If I could move my hands my nails would be digging into my palms. They ask and ask the same questions every day, they want the specific words to come out of my lips and when I refuse to comply they throw me someplace to rot. Rot and static, bad memories and counting. Tick, tick, tick I always go. Counting endlessly in the dark confines of that space. That space that is so empty yet so full.

“Kyle, I said are you _sure_.”

We are shaking, the static buzzing over getting louder again, my eyes flicking all around the room in that crazed haze. Why, why, why. Accept my answers, why can’t they accept my answers. They’re supposed to be helping me why can’t they just do that one simple thing. Anger boiling up, uncontained now, threatening to burst through. It's inky and black and I’m back seeing all their corpses piled up, neatly sitting at the top happily, the blood is leaking down my skin.

“**Why ask me questions if you try to change my answers, just answer the fucking questions yourself stupid bitch.**” Oh. _Oh_ _no_. I’ve done it again, snapping with my alter instead of myself. Digging myself into the hole with my words.

Victoria is glaring at me, obviously enraged by my outburst. She stands and walks to her desk, pressing the phone to her ear and pressing a button. She talks quietly enough I cannot hear, but I know she is telling them to take me to confinement. Laughter, hysterical laughter uncontained, unwarranted bursting through the quiet. She looks quite alarmed, speaking faster and pressing the phone back down to the receiver. Laughter increasing in volume, rocking in my chair and struggling against my bindings. They know I know. I know why I came here. I know why I may never leave. I act and lie pretending I have no memory of it but my time here brought it all back.   
The doors burst open slamming against the wall and three nurses come in, two restraining me while the other pushes a needle full of “happy juice" into my neck. Within a few seconds I am falling unconscious.

When I wake I am back in that awful padded room. It’s so dark in there and I can't move. Its suffocating and hot, the only light coming from the tiny window in the door. They never come to check on me no matter how much I scream. I could scream until my cords ripped themselves to shreds, filling my throat and lungs with blood choking me to death, and they would only come in to collect the bloody carcass when my time was up.

This room is hell. This place is cruel. They use illegal practices to “_help_" the patients here. Even after what I did I never thought I deserved this. They only bring water so we don’t die and one meal a week. Depending on how long you’re in here you’ll lose most of your weight.

All the thoughts come rushing back in here, clouding my mind and drowning me inside them. Things they want to push back inside or make you forget about are the worst to experience, but my memories are fond. It's the nice ones they pull out, all that’s left is the bad. They wonder why I do not show improvement but that is the answer.

I silently wish my hands could cover my ears, knowing it would not help but wishing for it all the same. One more luxury denied in this place. Once far back in time I might have been considered sane. The bubbling hate, the overwhelming ecstasy at the sight of blood. It might have been, once, that this was not so. I am aware it has always been there, suppressed. Hidden under layers of happiness and love. I am also aware that it built over time, more and more as my innocence was sapped away expanding into something unexpected that could not have been contained.

The memory of the day it all came out. The memory they wished to free me of, the only one I clung to so desperately. A memory that is not entirely clear anymore.

It had been on a Friday. I had just come home, and walked in on my mom and dad fighting again. He had been caught sending emails to a woman barely older than me, clearly a scam but he had fallen for it and send a few thousand dollars to her. Their shouting only continued to increase in sound, and the static made itself present in the back of my mind. I sat to try do my homework when my brother started to cry. His tears fueled the argument even more, shouts of blame and hate. Somehow the static broke free of my barrier.

That is wear the memories became blurred, police and doctors filling me in on what happened when I had “blacked out".

Apparently I had stood and gone into the kitchen, grabbing out sharpest knife. I went behind my dad and stabbed him over and over while my mom screamed, running to grab Ike. They ran upstairs and hid in one of the rooms, mom called the police. I finished with my dad, making my way upstairs to them. I followed the loud noises of my mom hushing my brother and crying. The bathroom.

Going to the bathroom door I tested the knob finding it unlocked. Twisting it and pushing it open my mom and Ike were huddled in the corner sobbing, mom pressing Ike’s face into her chest to shield him from this. I went inside and slit my mother’s throat as she begged for me to spare Ike. Then I lifted him hiding his face and took him downstairs. We sat there until the police came. They said when they came in we were both covered in blood and I was laughing hysterically. They thought my brother was dead until they heard him crying. They said they likely would have shot me if I hadn’t been holding him.

From there they took me to the police station, then to the hospital. I was deemed mentally unstable and put in this current psychiatric facility. They will not tell me what exactly happened to Ike but I have been informed he was sent back to Canada. I’ll never see him again.

You can see why this is both my best and worst memory. I think I might have snapped to save my brother from our parents but that isn't true. My parents didn’t deserve to die over an argument. I took everything away from my brother that night. I lost everything myself. You might ask “how do you live with yourself after doing something so monstrous?” Well.. I don’t. I don’t because being locked in an inhumane facility and treated like garbage isn’t living, is it? The only human contact I get is therapy appointments. And you know, despite all this pain and torture I’m going through here, it only seems like a fitting punishment for me. That’s why I haven't just killed them all and escaped. I don’t deserve to get off easy. I killed my family. 


End file.
